Deceit
Book One of the Stellar Series
Rebecca Clark
Contents
Copyright
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Disorder
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About the Author
Deceit
Cover Design MadHat
Editor Josie Cruz
Created with Vellum
This book is for Alexis
"Do not follow where the path may lead. Go instead where there is no path and leave a trail." – Ralph Waldo Emerson
Prologue
It melted his heart staring down at his little girl tucked into bed. Who would have thought the galaxy’s militia leader would have a soft spot? In the nearly three years since the birth of his daughter, he had walked a fine line between keeping her safe and exposing the truth.
This moment had been coming for some time. However, he hadn’t realized just how hard it would be to let go. He wanted to hold onto her forever, but he knew he couldn’t. Keeping her safe was more important than keeping her.
He leaned down and kissed her forehead, inhaling the scent of her baby shampoo as the blonde flyaway hairs tickled his nose. That familiar smell made his heart swell. How do you go from being truly happy to alone? He wondered how he was supposed to walk away from his everything.
Before he left the room, he switched on her favorite moon and star night-light. Turning around, he saw her big green eyes staring back at him. It broke his heart to think this was the last time he would be tucking her into bed. He wished with everything he was that he could freeze this moment in time. He wished he could wake up and spend just one more day with her. But he knew he couldn’t.
“Goodnight, Daddy. I love you.” She flipped onto her side and cuddled her stuffed bunny under her nose. The covers came up to her shoulders, and all he could see was her fine, blonde hair.
“I love you, too, baby girl.” He always replied the same way, and he wouldn’t change that tonight. He didn’t want her to think anything was different. Selfishly, he wanted to remember her just this way—safe and happy.
He watched her from the doorway as her breathing settled into a rhythmic pattern, then exited her room and pulled the door shut behind him. There was no other option. He had to leave her. Being around her created an unsafe environment. Deep down, he knew this would be harder for him; soon, she would forget him, but he would always be thinking of her, forever.
The realization hit him that if he saw his daughter again, she would be much older and the damage would be done. She would know that he’d left her and she might never forgive him. However, that was the chance he had to take. No matter what he chose, there would be enough regret to last a lifetime.
Often, he wondered what would have happened if he hadn’t taken his daughter away, if he’d told his wife the truth. Would she have changed her evil ways? He kept replaying the last day he spent with his wife over and over again in his head. They were the power couple, Kalus and Queen Alala. He couldn’t help imagining the fairytale that could have been. But there was more to it than that, and he had to focus on the facts. Relying on emotions or contemplating what could have been was useless.
He had to face his future, a future without his daughter.
“Please take care of her. My daughter is everything to me. Protect her with everything you are.” His voice cracked.
“You know I will, Kalus,” she replied.
“I trust you. That’s why you’re here. I know you’ll love her as I do.” He tried to smile, but he couldn’t overcome the despair that washed through him.
“I’ll do everything in my power to protect her,” she said gently, trying to comfort him with her words. “She will feel love because I love her like I would my own child.”
That fateful night when she’d helped him stage his own daughter’s death now wove the three of them together. Indeed, once it was safe, they’d fled together, leaving a trail of lies to cover their tracks.
He took a few steps back and glanced over at his daughter’s bedroom door, then solemnly strode toward the front door, all while the pain of losing his daughter bore a hole right through his gut, leaving him breathless. The only thing that kept him moving was the well-being of his daughter. If they found him, they would find her. He knew that would be worse than leaving her here to live her life.
Here, she had a chance to be happy, even if it wasn’t forever. If they found her now, he knew she would only become a bargaining chip, and go to the highest bidder.
“If an emergency arises, you know how to reach me. When and if that happens, there will be no going back,” he warned. “The life you live here will be over.”
She nodded curtly to show her understanding.
He opened his arms and enveloped her. Even though she was slight, he knew she could protect his daughter. Her training had been thorough and systematic, giving her the tools to protect herself and now his daughter. “Goodbye,” he whispered, “and thank you for all that you have done, and for all that you have left behind.” He kissed the top of her head and slowly crept away from her bed. He didn’t wait for a response. He left and didn’t look back.
She watched from the window as he disappeared into the darkness. She knew the task that lay in front of her would be anything but easy. She also knew she would die before she let anything happen to that innocent little girl.
Chapter One
“Don’t go!” I holler at the figure dissolving next to me.
He bats his long lashes and the corners of his lips move upward in a sly grin. “I’ll see you again.”
I watch his lips move, wanting more. “When?”
I can’t help but want answers. These recurring dreams of him have to mean something, right? Those mysterious blue eyes haunt my waking hours.
“Tonight.” With that one word, he spins around and marches away from me. Fog swirls around his feet, then envelops his body, leaving me standing alone in a field of flowers, waiting to be plucked back into reality.
Bewildered by the sight of my legs fading, I know it’s only a matter of moments before the rest of my body follows. My surroundings begin to waft away. The dull buzzing grows with each passing second. I’m now peering down at myself from above and witnessing my journey back into reality.
The constant beep, beep, beep chips away at my consciousness. I fight the urge to open my eyes. I know what awaits me. I want to spend a few more minutes remembering his gorgeous face.
Reluctantly, I peel my sweaty body off the bedsheet and cross the room to put my alarm clock out of its misery. If my alarm were bedside, I would never make it to school on time.
I venture back into my dream while I shower. Most mornings I feel robbed of a restful sleep, but today in particular, I really enjoyed seeing him.
I rinse my hair and speedily shave my legs. I complete the same routine every day, even though I always wear the same boring outfits, which usually consist of jeans. I grab my towel and quickly dry myself.
“Today is going to be miserable. I hate Mondays,” I mumble while tossing around my clothes looking for the most comfortable t-shirt I own. Big, ominous, black clouds roll by my
bedroom window as if confirming my glum prediction. Thunder erupts in the distance, sending chills down my spine. I’ll have to run to school if I want to make it before my hair, so carefully straight-ironed, frizzes up. Envisioning the stares that I’ll get, I speed up my preparations.
When I step in front of the mirror, my jaw drops. What happened to my eyes? The whites are laden with red, clashing with the green irises. My lids are puffy, and the normally pale skin beneath my eyes appears bruised. “Why are my eyes this scary? I just woke up.” Half expecting an answer from the image in the mirror, I sigh and keep moving. I don’t want to get stuck in the rain.
New England weather is something of a mystery. Spring is just as fickle as fall. One day you could be basking in the sun, sipping lemonade, and just days later, winter can rear its ugly head with a few inches of snow, rain, or sleet. At least the weather might add some pizzazz to my life, which is so lacking in excitement it’s embarrassing—a teenager’s worst nightmare.
Currently, I live vicariously through my best friend, who resides in an entirely different state. Her stories of New York City are never boring or mundane. I wait eagerly to hear her reports of dating calamities and weekly updates every Sunday.
I’ve lived in a suburb of Boston, Massachusetts, for my whole life—almost seventeen years—and I’ve always had the notion that I don’t belong here. It seems as if I’ve been stranded in a city with people who don’t speak my language. Some mornings, I find myself staring at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, a shell of what should be, waiting for something, anything. I need a telltale sign or signal that I’m, indeed, living the wrong life.
My life is all about routine. The hot boy in my dreams night after night is the only truly exciting event happening. They take place somewhere with vast magenta skylines, purple-stemmed flowers with green velvet petals, a trio of orange moons, and the most recent addition—a boy who would make a Greek god jealous.
I can’t be sure if he is a real Greek god, but he has the body: mesmerizing, aquamarine eyes, dark-brown hair framing a stoic face punctuated with a chiseled chin, broad shoulders and bulging muscles that can hardly be contained by his t-shirt—it’s all enough to make any god envious and every girl swoon. He isn’t frightening or scary. In fact, he’s quite the opposite. He knows my name, and he addresses me as if we’re old friends. I’m sure it’s just another dream that teases me with the exciting life I want, I tell myself as I try but fail to get his image out of my head.
Last night, he reached out to me, and it seemed different. I can’t describe why this is a big deal, why this dream felt so real—I know it’s just a dream.
“Alexa, you’re going to be late!” Mom shouts. Why does she always find it necessary to scream up the steps as I’m about to dart down them?
Entering the kitchen, the smell of coffee swirls around me, instantly energizing me. “Mom, when have I ever been late?” I ask, exasperated.
She winks and shrugs, making her chin-length, dark-brown hair swish back and forth. She pulls up the paper in an effort to hide her smirk. In true mom fashion, she quickly changes the subject. “I might be late tonight. I’m covering someone’s day shift. If I’m later than seven thirty, I’ll call you. But there’s leftover pizza in the fridge and plenty of food in the freezer.”
“Mom, I’m going to be seventeen years old. I’m sure I can find something for dinner,” I reply peevishly. “I always do, don’t I?” My mom is never home for dinner, but I’m certainly old enough to take care of myself. I don’t begrudge my mother’s career as a nurse working the night shift. She’s provided a great life for the two of us.
“I know…I can still worry about you, though, can’t I?”
I roll my eyes and kiss her cheek. “Sure, Mom. You will anyway, no matter what I say.”
“Have a good day, sweetie. I will see you tonight.” She winks one of her big blue eyes at me again.
“Bye, Mom.” I grab my book bag and fly out the door.
I quickly pull my pink hoodie up over my hair, resenting the need to hurry to school. What’s even worse than a storm is a storm on Monday. Mondays are the worst days of the week. They always seem longer than usual, and the gossip about the weekend constantly reminds me that my life is boring.
“Alexa, can you please give us the answer to number two?” Great, Mr. Riley caught me daydreaming again in his class.
I watch him pace back and forth in front of the room, expecting my answer, which I don’t have. I can detect the other students’ eyes all swinging toward me, their stares penetrating holes right through me. The heat trails up my neck into my face leaving my ears a blaze. I know for sure, without even looking in a mirror, that my normally pale skin now gleams watermelon red.
I can’t help it; all I can think about is him—the boy from my dreams. Exotic blue eyes, and the way he sings my name…captivating. His broad shoulders and athletic body are permanently singed into my brain. I really can’t stop thinking about him. If only the dream were true and he was real! The students around here would treat me differently if I showed up with him on my arm as my boyfriend. I almost laugh out loud at that ridiculous notion.
Mandy, the girl in front of me, swivels her head around to see what’s taking me so long to answer. Her red banana curls bounce up and down and, for a moment, I’m transfixed by the perfection of each ringlet. How does she get her hair so Marie-Claire perfect? No wonder she’s the captain of the cheerleading team. My mop would never look like that. I have straight, blonde hair that doesn’t do much of anything except frizz. I straighten it daily, hoping to enforce the no-frizz law. I also, in an effort to tame it, keep it shoulder length—anything longer takes forever to straighten.
I stare at Mandy. She scrunches her freckled nose at me and mouths something. I’m not sure what she is trying to say. I glance back up at the teacher; he has halted his pacing to stare at me, as well. Sweat trickles down my temples and I wish I could shrink into my seat and disappear. I’ve absolutely no idea what he’s asking me, but if I request that he repeat the question, everyone will know I wasn’t paying attention, again.
Just as I clear my throat, ready to give a random answer, a voice speaks up behind me. “I believe the answer is prokaryotic cell.”
Mr. Riley looks right through me to the source of the answer. “Yes, Michael, you’re correct.” He launches himself right back into his pacing, one of his signature moves. Students frequently link this pacing to his overt craziness.
I can feel the students’ eyes shifting from me to the front of the class. I take a deep breath and try to follow along. The class isn’t all that bad. I enjoy science, and biology itself is very interesting. I like learning about cells and how things work. It doesn’t bother me that most people refer to me as a nerd or a geek. I’m just having a hard time concentrating on anything but these dreams.
Mr. Riley stops at the board and writes Test on Friday. He stands there scratching his head as if he’s planning to add more, but he doesn’t. Mr. Riley is an odd guy. Some girls swoon over his handsome, disguised-as-nerdy looks, his light-brown hair casually perfect, his green eyes framed with his unique tortoiseshell glasses. Some of the boys copy his eyewear in hopes of attracting girls. He always insists on writing on the old chalkboard, even though there are new whiteboards installed in every classroom. He’s also always covered in chalk, because he constantly leans up against the board or writes on it, then touches his pants or puts his hands in his pockets. It’s like he’s creating his very own artwork.
“Don’t forget to study for the exam,” Mr. Riley announces before the bell rings.
The bell interrupts my mental examination of Mr. Riley. Quickly, I turn around to thank Michael for saving me with the answer. “Hey, Michael, thanks—I was totally daydreaming before. I never would have answered that question correctly.” Michael lives a few blocks away from me. He was the new kid last year; of course, unlike me, he immediately fit right in.
Michael smiles and nods. He has perfect, mo
vie-star-white teeth and a face that melts hearts. Instantly, my own face flushes. Did I over-share by admitting to daydreaming? Also, I hadn’t realized just how attractive Michael is until this moment.
“No problem, Alexa, but you could make it up to me,” he replies. “You can tutor me for the biology exam. I was in your math class last year, so I know how smart you are.” Eyebrows raised, Michael awaits my response.
Michael is thin, but tall. He has the best hair, longer on the top and always styled toward the front. The girls refer to Michael’s hair as the best “Beiber-do” in the school. Other boys at school have a similar hairstyle, but his shade of brown is a unique hazelnut color.
“Possibly. When would you want to study? The test is Friday and it’s only Monday.” I divert my eyes to my bag and pretend to search for something important.
“How about we study after school today?” Michael opens his eyes wide, waiting for my response, which definitely surprises me.
“Okay. Why don’t you come by around four o’clock this afternoon?” Can this really be happening? No one ever gives me the time of day at school, especially an attractive boy with the coveted Beiber-do.
“That sounds great,” he responds. “Oh, yeah, I almost forgot to ask… Are you going to the dance on Saturday?”
The idea of pinching myself came to mind. Did he really just ask me about the homecoming dance? “We will do well on the exam,” I counter with a nod and a reassuring smile. He continues to stare at me, as if he’s waiting for me to say something.
“And the dance?” he asks.
“Um, I’m not sure about the dance.” I swallow. “Maybe. I haven’t decided yet.” Why is he asking me this? Maybe this is a joke. However, gazing into those big, brown eyes isn’t torturous. Michael and I’ve always been cordial, and I even had multiple conversations with him last year. But this is different, more personal.
Deceit (The Stellar Series Book 1) Page 1